A Collection of CSI Drabbles
by TEi Has Pants
Summary: As the title says, this is a collection of short stories related to CSI, usually focusing on Greg. I'll update it as it catches my fancy. Spoiler warnings regarding to Season 7 episodes and Chapter 3 involves a Phoenix Wright crossover!
1. What Do You Think?

**Title:** _What Do You Think?_

**Fandom:** CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

**Timeline:** Following the episode _Redrum_

**Wordcount:** 499

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Greg and Warrick reflect on Keppler's questionable methods for catching a murderer, and its effects on their co-workers.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI…if I did I'd be a rich S.O.B! But no. This fic is profit-free. I makes no moneys.

"'Rick!"

Warrick Brown cast his gaze over his shoulder. Greg Sanders—tall, skinny and blonde, every means a California boy in appearance--was jogging after him wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans. The two CSIs had just gone off a rough shift: in order to solve a murder case where the trail had gone cold, the new CSI, Mike Keppler, had concocted a plan called "reverse forensics," forging a crime scene and finding a street dealer to take the fall for the real murderer, luring him out into the open. Unfortunately, it was a plan that required few people to be in the know; Keppler was in on it with the Undersheriff, as well as longtime friends and co-workers to the two CSIs, Catherine Willows (their acting supervisor) and Jim Brass (lead detective of the LVPD homicide devision).

The plan had almost worked, but the Undersheriff forgot to bring the District Attorney in on it, and she refused to charge the murderer. Warrick and Greg had found out about the fake crime scene alongside Sarah Sidle and Nick Stokes, two other CSIs working the graveyard shift. Nick had taken it personally...almost too personally, Warrick thought. Their real murderer was busted on another charge, and it'd be a whole different mess to connect him to the original crime. Warrick knew what _his_ next shift would be dedicated to.

The blonde CSI caught up with Warrick, sidling alongside him and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Hey, what do you think about all this? The whole reverse forensics thing. You were pretty quiet back there, when Keppler and Cath told us about it."

"I just didn't think it was worth making a fuss over," Warrick said, casting his gaze ahead. He ran a hand through his thick brown hair. "It's not like Catherine could tell us what was going on. We got the guy, even though Keppler's method didn't work."

"Mmm," Greg said, casting his blue-eyed gaze up to the ceiling of the crime lab. "I guess so."

"Why, what's your take on it?" Warrick asked. "You seemed kinda quiet yourself."

"Well...am I a little mad? Yeah. But when I come in tomorrow, the job and the people are still going to be here. I don't expect to _stay_ mad." Greg shrugged. "I think Nick makes a valid point, though, we trust Catherine with our lives on a daily basis, and she didn't think we could handle this. I think reverse forensics is a crock, personally...we would have gotten him eventually."

"Yeah, never look gift evidence in the mouth," Warrick said, allowing a grin. "Still, we got him."

"Can't deny you that, 'Rick. I don't think Grissom would have approved though."

"Yeah, it's too political for Grissom. You know him: 'follow what cannot lie: the evidence.'" Warrick shrugged. "But Grissom ain't here for another two weeks. We just gotta follow Cath's lead."

"Yeah. Hey, that drink you wanted to take Nick for...still up for it? My treat."

"Heh." Warrick smiled. "Sure."


	2. This Hurts

**Title: **_This Hurts_

**Fandom: **CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

**Timeline: **During the episode _Fannysmackin'_

**Wordcount:** 435

**Rating:** T for violence (and 'cause, hey, it's CSI!)

**Summary:** Greg reflects on the events leading up to and following his brutal beating at the hands of a gang.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI…if I did I'd be a rich S.O.B! But no. This fic is profit-free. I makes no moneys.

---

_Ow._

Greg Sanders wondered, idly, if there was any part of him that _didn't_ currently feel like a living punching bag.

His breath came out short and ragged—damnit, even _breathing_ hurt, driving sharp pain into his chest. The gang that had done this to him had long since departed, scraping the side of his Denali—that'd leave a nice amount of paint transfer. His teammates on Las Vegas' graveyard shift of crime scene investigators would be able to get a nice hit off that on their database. Hodge's'd be the one to figure it out...wonderful, reliable, surly Hodges.

And then there was the saliva on his vest and the skin cells under his fingernails--the latter he'd scraped off the ankle from one of his assailants. Probably the same one to spit on him. He tried to clench that hand, protect the precious flakes of DNA evidence, but his fingers didn't work quite right--they were too stiff, the muscles in his hand aching.

Even over the din of Las Vegas nightlife, Greg could hear two more people breathing nearby--one, the initial victim of the same gang that had beaten Greg, lying farther away, and the other, a gang member Greg had to run down in self-defense, lying at the front wheels of the Denali.

He had to pause and run the last part in his mind over again. Had he really done it--plowed into another human being to save his own skin? If Grissom didn't kill him, his mom would--after she freaked out for him getting hurt.

Would they? It was hard to tell. Hard to think right. His left eye had swollen shut, and he wasn't sure if his right one was even open. He could smell though, exhaust and the stench of urine permeating the air. And he could feel—ohh, yeah, he could feel. Aside from the cool air on his face, and the cold, damp concrete on the back of his head, there was just a whole lot of pain. A field of pain. A lake of pain...or maybe a really small sea. At least it wasn't the Red Sea...he didn't imagine all the salt would feel good in fresh, open wounds.

God, he was delirious...maybe even had a concussion. That shocked him a little bit more into the realm of the waking, remembering that old episode of _MASH_, when his dad would watch it on TV.

In the distance, the sound of sirens pierced Vegas' nightlife. The backup Greg had called for was finally here.

"Aw, man..." he mumbled to himself, his voice hoarse. "This...hurts."


	3. A Little Help from my Friend

**Title:** _A Little Help From my Friend_

**Fandoms:** CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney

**Rating:** T, for murder has occurred!

**Word Count: **711

**Timeline:** Unimportant for PWAA, but for CSI it follows the episode _Happenstance_ in Season 7.

**Summary:** For running down Demitrius James in self-defense, the court found Greg Sanders' actions "excusable." But it doesn't end there, when Demitrius' parents file a civil suit. Ties in with chapter 2.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI or the _Ace Attorney_ franchise…if I did I'd be a rich S.O.B! But no. This fic is profit-free. I makes no moneys.

---

Greg sat in the break room of the Las Vegas crime lab, his head in his hands, fingers interweaved into his blonde hair. Well, one trial was out of the way...at least the state had decided he was in the right.

He remembered the night too clearly--it had only been a few weeks, a month maybe, since he lay bruised on the streets of Las Vegas, a vicious gang-beating in exchange for saving an innocent life. And taking Demetrius James' in the process...but it was necessary, and while the whole night blurred together, Greg _remembered_ James picking up the rock, _remembered_ him charging at Greg's Denali...

Grissom sat a few seats away, a newspaper in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. The older, graying man had asked Greg how the trial went--congratulated him on the victory--but Greg hadn't told him about the civil suit, not yet, he was still trying to find the words...so it shocked him when Grissom brought the subject up first, his voice even.

"So what are your plans about the civil suit?"

The way Grissom asked--it hadn't been judgemental, nor did it sound like he was making casual conversation. Greg's head lifted a bit, his eyes searching Grissom's for any sign of disappointment--but his boss kept his eyes firmly on the paper, combing it for interesting tidbits.

"Uh, what?" Was all Greg could manage. He felt dumb--and Grissom, while a man of such intellect, didn't usually leave that impression whenever the two spoke one-on-one about anything outside their job.

"His parents _did _file, didn't they?" Grissom set the paper down to turn the page. "I'd be surprised if they didn't. Humans are creatures of habit: they'd want further justice where the court system initially failed."

"Y...yeah. They filed." The younger CSI's mouth went dry. "I don't know what to do from here, Griss. I feel like I'm way in over my head, y'know? It's like a roller coaster that just won't stop."

A tiny grin tugged at the corner of Grissom's mouth. "There's something I know about. Listen, Greg...I know a really good lawyer, a defense attorney. He's cracked some incredibly tough cases and I have every confidence that he'd be able to clear you against Demetrius James' parents."

Greg sat up a little straighter. "Yeah? What's his name, have I heard about him?"

"Probably not--but the man's _good_." Grissom's half-grin turned into a full, warm smile, and he finally met Greg's eyes. "He'd be a great CSI if he ever wanted to change careers."

"Well--that's great!" Relief flooded over the young CSI, and for the first time all day he allowed a grin to break out over his face. "When can we get him here?"

"He should arrive any moment, actually." Grissom gave Greg a sage, almost fatherly nod. "I called him and told him all about the incident and he arranged the flight this morning."

As if on cue, the doors to the break room swung open; in stepped a man in his late twenties or early thirties, with black, windswept hair, strong, brown eyes and broad shoulders. He wore a blue business suit with a red neck tie, and carried in one hand a briefcase--probably full of all sorts of legal documentation.

"Greg Sanders, this is an old friend of mine from California." Grissom stood up and walked over to the man. Greg took his cue and followed suit, and both CSIs exchanged handshakes with him.

The man in the blue suit met Greg's eyes and put on a confident smile. "Hi--Gil's told me everything. My name is Phoenix Wright, and I've come to take your case."

"Haha...thanks. Greg Sanders, Crime Lab." Greg grinned. He liked this Phoenix Wright guy--something about him was so..._charismatic_. All of a sudden the civil suit didn't seem like that big of a deal anymore; simply being around Phoenix was enough to convince Greg that he'd pull through okay. The junior CSI had to wonder if the lawyer gave that kind of bolstering confidence to all of his clients.

"Sometimes," Phoenix said, as the three men sat down, "All anyone needs is a little help to get through a hard time. Trust me, I know."


End file.
